


Lingering Mortality

by jonnimir



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, References to suicide insofar as the fall was an attempted murder/suicide, Vignette, hints of mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 22:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir/pseuds/jonnimir
Summary: When Will does speak, his quiet voice is startling in the confined space.“I don’t feel like I’m alive anymore.”





	Lingering Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for the After the Fall zine. I had to cut a lot to keep it within the word limit, and later realized the final fic is very vague about when this is happening - I imagine it being long enough after the fall that they're past the initial shock and urgent wound care, but they're still very much feeling their injuries and on the road without a place to settle.

At twilight, they pull off a disused road where they can hide behind some brush and rest—a temporary reprieve from the danger of prying eyes. It’s a tolerable shelter, though reclining chairs are a poor substitute for beds, but Will has barely spoken since the fall, and Hannibal prepares himself for uneasy silence.

When Will does speak, his quiet voice is startling in the confined space.

“I don’t feel like I’m alive anymore.” Hannibal turns to see him staring out at the darkening sky. “Haven’t for a while, really, but it’s worse now.”

Hannibal acknowledges some level of concern, now all too familiar. “You have more reason to feel alive than ever, now that you have reached such heights and borne witness to the beauty you had previously denied.”

Will sighs, but doesn’t look at him. “Life feels… improbable. I’m not surprised I couldn’t kill the Devil, but I don’t know how I made it through. Makes me wonder if I really did die.”

“Is the pain of your wounds not enough to assure you that you are living?”

“The guilty in the Inferno still felt pain, didn’t they? Just feels like penance.”

“You have no reason to repent, Will. We are who we are, and following our true natures is no more wrong than the tides that shift and drown.”

This earns a small, grim smile. “Still selling your usual wares. Guess that’s why you’re still here with me—a constant reminder of my sins. Fitting agony.”

There are many things Hannibal wants to say in response, but he settles on a truth that’s been haunting him. “I am here because I am no more capable of leaving you than you are capable of leaving me.”

In the buzzing silence, he hears teeth grit. “Sounds like nothing more than mutually assured destruction.”

“Even after death?”

“Death is no barrier for the Devil. I’m sure you’d find a way to hurt me even if I was ten thousand feet under.” Something there stings, though it isn’t the accusation of harm.

“Do you still see me in such reductive terms as ‘the Devil’?”

Will is silent for a long moment. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing. I’ve accepted what you are, and I acquired a taste for certain things that wouldn’t sit well with heaven. That forced a shift in perspective.”

“Yet your acceptance of those things seems lacking, considering you tried your best to end both our lives.”

Will shrugs slightly. “I accepted their existence, just like I accepted gravity. Between you and me. Between us and the sea.”

“You seemed more accepting of the sea. And with it, your death.”

A sharp laugh. “Well, I don’t fear _death_.”

The implication gives him pause, but he pushes on. “And now you cling to death for comfort while we hover between lives—an anchor as we drift. But is this a matter of feeling like you are dead, or simply wishing you were, and struggling to accept the reality?”

“I’m not wishing for one thing or another. It’s just hard to tell what’s real anymore.” Will exhales shakily. “Everything that night was so vivid… the blood, the violence. The power. Now everything is faded. Monotone.”

“A lack of passion can cause such dullness.”

“My passion is tainted by disgust. So is everyday life, now—I can’t detach from it.”

“Better to immerse yourself in the passion, if you are tainted either way.”

“Are you suggesting a killing spree would be therapeutic?”

“If that’s what provokes your passion. But that need not be the only thing.”

Will finally turns, eyes searching Hannibal’s face. “Passion is a loaded word.”

“It always has been. From the Latin _passionem_ —suffering, or enduring.” Hannibal is aware of his automatic deflection, but still feels a surge of discontent when Will turns away.

“Seems appropriate, then.”

Knowing how badly this discontent aches, Hannibal can’t disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't yet, you can download a copy of the zine [here](https://hannigram-atf-zine.tumblr.com/post/182579052670/were-excited-to-announce-you-can-now-download-the).
> 
> And you can find me on tumblr as [ethicsbecomeaesthetics](https://ethicsbecomeaesthetics.tumblr.com/).


End file.
